


Four Lights

by Haldane



Series: The Pretence Series [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5696071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haldane/pseuds/Haldane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to the Pretence series.  How was it that two Victorian gentlemen moved from sharing quarters to a fully consummated sexual relationship?</p><p>Set within the Hound of the Baskervilles story, but knowledge of the case is not required.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Solo in Sunlight

It is strange, the small chances that can lead to major turning points in one's life. My first full day at Baskerville Hall had seen a clear sky, but for the next two the weather had been so terrible that Sir Henry and I had been confined indoors, reliant on billiards and books for entertainment. Finally the mid-October grey had blown away, and after lunch I was determined to walk into town and send my letter to Holmes, coming back with a long ramble across the moor.

Sir Henry had accompanied me into town, but once my letter was safely on its way, he went to pay a formal call on the rector, as landlord to clergyman, where I felt I had no place. I had no hesitation at returning alone cross-country, the weather looked to hold fair and the path was clear enough to follow. 

It was amazing, the two moods the moor could show. Under the rain clouds or in the dark of night, no place on earth could have been more forbidding and I think I would have signed over my pension not to spend a night out there alone. But the sun brought out a flourish of life; every green imaginable, while from close to the ground came the small noises of unseen animals seeking food, sought in turn by the hawks soaring overhead. The strong sunlight felt good, and could well be the last decent warmth we had before the winter.

I never would have found the rock formation at all if I had not needed to remove a stone from my shoe. The path had dipped into a small gully containing a trickle of water, but to my right it seemed drier, so I turned that way. It angled abruptly after only a dozen yards, narrowed, then ended in a pile of fallen blocks too heavy to wash away. There was the absolutely perfect place to sit; the stone walls formed a square niche, a little wider than my shoulders, and a conveniently placed boulder made a seat. The sun had dried and warmed the rock after the rain, and there was no trace of dirt. I sat down to remove the pebble, but once sitting I felt disinclined to move. I leaned against the rock and must have drifted into a doze within minutes.

That was when I had the dream. I was back in the comfortable surroundings of Baker Street, lying on the couch, completely naked. I noticed this in that odd way that dreams have, where the strangest things are accepted without any acknowledgement of their strangeness. Holmes stood by the fire, leaning on the mantelpiece with one elbow, dressed as I had last seen him. When he caught my eye he smiled and came over to me. He placed both hands on my shoulders and kissed me, running his hands down my arms, and I reached out to grasp his waist and pull him down on top of me.

I woke to find that the sun had shifted to fall full into my lap, and one part of me at least was enthusiastic about both the warmth and the dream. I suppose many people would have found the dream shocking, but my army service had taken me outside the confines of polite society as most Englishmen know it. Many senior officers viewed a discreet quick tumble between equals as a lesser evil than a scandal with someone's wife or daughter, or catching a disease from the local whores. And of course much of Indian society has long been tolerant of relationships between men. 

But Victorian London was not India, and I had curtailed my activities to my hand and the occasional speculation. Even without society watching, my wounding and subsequent illness had for a long time prevented me from feeling much inclination for anything more. 

I reached down, intending only to straighten myself up and continue with my walk, but my hand lingered. I would not normally consider indulging myself out of doors, but it seemed a shame to waste the combination of such a delightful mental image and all too physical readiness. As to privacy, I was probably more alone tucked into this corner of the moor than inside my bedroom at Baskerville Hall. 

Being already halfway home, so to speak, it was only a couple of minutes' effort to reach my peak, and slide into the almost equally enjoyable lassitude that follows. I would have stayed longer, but the October sun is a short-lived thing, and the temperature of the air was already falling. I stood and stretched hugely, feeling a definite contentment inside and out. 

"Well, that was an extremely pleasant kiss, Holmes." I said aloud to the empty air. "Now I have to wonder what your preferences actually are." That made me laugh as I headed back to the path for Baskerville Hall. The sensual preferences of a man so intensely protective of his privacy as Holmes would be a deeply concealed secret indeed.

And only a few yards away, on the flat ground above the ravine wall, a pair of amused grey eyes widened with shock, then closed in denial, much too late to forget what had just been learned.


	2. Desperation in Twilight

I have rarely felt as many emotions at once as I did when Holmes spoke to me out of the twilight and proved to be our mystery stalker. Surprise, relief, gladness, and then strangely enough anger. I had been so conscientious in writing my reports, thinking of him in London, reliant upon my work. Instead he was lurking here, watching me scuttle about on his errands and no doubt caustically listing my mistakes. 

"Then you use me, and yet do not trust me!" I cried with some bitterness. "I think that I have deserved better at your hands, Holmes. Why am I here at all, if you are watching over my shoulder to check all my doings for yourself?" 

Holmes must have to able to feel my genuine hurt, since his tone was unusually placating. "My dear fellow, you have been invaluable to me in this as in many other cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I have seemed to play a trick upon you. As it is, I remain an unknown factor in the business, ready to throw in all my weight at a critical moment."

" _Seemed_ to have played a trick on me? There is no _seemed_ about it. You have played me for a decoy, running me here and there to draw attention, while all the time you have planned to leap out and save the day, and without even the decency to tell me that was the job I was to do. Surely you know I would have done it freely if you had asked."

"For you to know could not have helped us and might possibly have led to my discovery. You would have wished to tell me something, or in your kindness you would have brought me out some comfort or other, and so an unnecessary risk would be run. I brought Cartwright down with me and he has seen after my simple wants: a loaf of bread and a clean collar. What does man want more? " 

I thought I had been angry before. Now my temper got the better of my manners, and I shouted furiously, while I clenched my fists so tightly my arms trembled.

"What more indeed? How about a loyal friend, whom you see as a potential liability? You think I am all weak kindness without discipline, and would have trotted out to see you, even after instructions to keep clear. Well, I have had enough of your lack of trust, your insults, and your carelessness of my feelings. Even if you had never called me your friend I would have been entitled to some courtesy as your fellow lodger. I am off for London, and by the time you return I will have vacated my room. Would you like me to leave you a dog as a farewell gift? You can train him to come and to go as you say without fearing disobedience, and he will be more use to you than I!" 

Now I had shocked him. He lunged forward and grasped my sleeve, and even in the ruddy light of the sunset I could see his face go white. "No!" he whispered hoarsely, and coughed to clear his throat. "No, it's not true; you can't mean that... Say you don't mean it!"

It should have made me feel better, but instead I felt insulted, that he would not take my threat seriously. "So now I'm a liar as well!" I hissed, and struck out with my right fist at his face.

And stopped. I have seen - and participated in - more brawls than I can count, and there are only two reactions to such a threat. A man will either throw up his hands and step back, or bring his own fists into play. Holmes did neither. He went completely still, and closed his eyes, for all the world as if he wanted me to strike him. 

Startled by his odd behaviour, I looked at him more closely. His pulse beat fast in his throat, and he was breathing rapidly through parted lips. Strange for a man essentially doing nothing... But I know what sexual desire looks like, and I was seeing it now. 

Normally I would have hesitated. To cross that bridge from friendship to physical intimacy without being certain of one's reception can destroy a man's reputation, but with Holmes I knew that even if I were totally mistaken he would never breathe a word of it. My right hand opened and my fingers brushed gently down his cheek.

His eyes flew open, and I swear that he looked disappointed. Not offended or shocked, and not pleased or relieved either, of all the emotions I might have expected. But expected reaction or not, it was not acceptance and I automatically retreated, hurt and embarrassed. "Please accept my apologies, Holmes. I am afraid that I have misunderstood the situation." 

"No, you are not wrong, and no apology is required. I have hoped for a long time now that you might someday approach me." 

They were hardly the words of a man whose long-awaited lover had just declared himself. There was still something wrong, something that I knew I was missing. "Why have you been waiting? I cannot believe, with your ability to discern so much about a person from the slightest contact, that you cannot have determined my preferences after years of sharing quarters. Why stand back and just wait for me?" 

Holmes hesitated before speaking. He had just opened his mouth when the most appalling conviction filled my mind, and all restraint was swept away in a wave of pain and anger: "Unless it's your damned vanity! You can't show any interest in me, oh no, not you, the man who is above all such mundane matters, but you can kindly accept my advances if I throw myself at you in an uncontrollable fit of passion, so the resulting weakness is all mine!" 

"Watson!" His voice was shaking, his whole body was shaking, and he looked more distressed than I had ever seen him. "Stop, Watson, please stop, even if you never listen to me again, please give me a minute so that I can explain."

His face showed so much anguish that I could not help but feel it. I was being torn apart inside, my anger demanding that I turn my back and leave, to hurt him as he had hurt me, and my compassion telling me this was my friend, and he was in pain. Compassion won, but it was a near thing. I took a seat on a rock and presented as neutral an appearance as I could. "Very well, Holmes. I am listening." 

"You ask why I did not approach you more conventionally - in truth..." and he laughed, a high and shaky laugh that told me how close he was to hysteria, "... my sexual experience does not include approaching another, or any form of negotiation. I will tell you also, as I have never told anyone else, that you now have the key to my situation earlier, when you could not understand my reaction to your attack."

He was holding himself tightly, arms locked around his body, looking only at the ground. I was aware, as I usually was not, that he was years younger than me, and in his misery he looked younger still. 

"You are not talking about anything recent."

He shook his head.

I was half talking to him, and half thinking aloud. "If I back up to the age most boys begin experimenting, I would find you at your boarding school... Holmes, are you telling me that your total participation in sex consists of someone bashing you once or twice and then forcing themselves on you without further formalities?"

It was a long pause, but then he nodded.

"Should I say your sexual experience, or experiences?"

"Experiences."

"And since then? Have you made trial of any other possibilities?"

"You are determined to have it all? Well, then, I have gone to brothels and paid my money. They have kissed and stroked and tried their tricks, and done nothing for me. One gave me back my money; the other cursed me into the street. Since then I have tried to avoid the entire issue."

"So you really were hoping I would strike you, and then... Oh, Holmes." I absolutely did not know what to say. 

That brought out an acid flash of the Holmes I knew. "I hope that is not pity, for the boy I was, in a situation gone these fifteen years."

"You think it is all in the past? How can you believe that, when after four years of living at close quarters, you are aroused by my nearness, but only because I almost struck you? If you speak truly, then this will do nothing for you!" I did not act out of desire; I have never desired to hurt my partners. But in my frustration at his denial, I shoved him backwards until he fell, and stooped over him with my fist clenched, although I had no intention of touching him. 

He lay there, looking up at me with what we both knew was longing, and then he closed his eyes and turned his head away. The anger drained from me for good this time and with it went my strength, and I sat abruptly on the bare ground, feeling ashamed. 

We sat in silence for a while, as the last twilight died. I think we were both afraid to speak or move, lest we re-ignite this tinderbox of emotion we had built for ourselves. But neither could we sit on the ground in the dark forever.

"I am sorry, Holmes. I had no right to do that. Since we are not partners in that sense, your private preferences are no concern of mine."

"Not so, Watson, they are your concern when I force them on you, as I did. It is I who must apologise to you. If I had controlled myself better tonight, the matter would not have arisen." He sighed, like a man who had been totally defeated. "And you are correct; I was not being honest..."

But I never heard what he was going to say next. We had been so totally caught up in our own concerns that I, at least, had lost all awareness of where we were or why we were there, but this obliviousness was ripped apart in an instant.

A terrible scream - a prolonged yell of horror and anguish - burst out of the silence of the moor. That frightful cry turned the blood to ice in my veins. All that we had said and done was swept aside as we leapt to our feet, peering vainly into the darkness. 

The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had pealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. Now it burst again upon our ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before. 

"Where is it, Watson?"

"There, I think." I pointed into the darkness.

"No, there!" 

And we raced towards that dreadful sound.


	3. Negotiation in Gaslight

From that time events in the case moved so fast that we hardly had a moment alone together. But in my few periods of reflection I thought deeply about the scene we had played out, and tried in all fairness to come to some reasonable conclusion. I was not naive enough to think we could just return to our lives and pretend it had never happened.

I had already decided that I would have to be the one to open the matter. If Holmes had only ever acted the passive part, he was unlikely to change overnight and suddenly make advances to me. And consideration of the matter had shown me much to desire in him as a partner. He was fastidious in his personal habits, an essential for me, and while his frame was slender, it was well enough made to invite further exploration. He was intelligent and educated, and as for the negative aspects of his company, well, I was already suffering those without the compensation of a physical relationship. 

My other realisation was exactly how much I cared about him. I did not just want him as a convenient partner, I wanted _him_.

It may sound strange, but our next moment of privacy was on the evening train back to London. We had a compartment to ourselves, and I was not afraid of eavesdroppers, not over the background noise, rattles and clatters and the hiss of the gaslights. We were of course in full view through the glass to anyone who walked along the corridor, but I thought that was just as well. Holmes might be more willing to listen if he knew I would not step over the bounds of propriety.

"Holmes?"

"Don't say it, Watson."

"I have a proposal to put to you."

"The law does not allow you to propose to me."

I concealed a smile, pleased with this flicker of humour. "The law also does not allow you to break into private houses, but I have helped you do that. Why should this law be any more respected?"

That almost won me a laugh, and he relented. "What do you wish to say?"

"I see no point in lying to you, nor will I be anything other than direct. I find you attractive, and wish you to consider an intimate relationship." I paused at this point. My language sounded so cold, but I could hardly go down on one knee and offer him flowers.

Holmes spoke while I was considering this. "But."

"But what?"

"Well, you have started out very encouragingly. Now you have paused, so you suspect I will not like what is coming next. That usually means the next sentence begins with 'but' and demolishes all that has gone before. As in 'But you are a perverted criminal deviant.' "

" 'Perverted'? 'Criminal'? How can you be a criminal when you have hurt no one? I would gladly apply those terms - and my fists - to those who hurt you, but you are the victim in this. My grandmother, the Scottish one, had a saying: 'If you're not given what you like, you might as well like what you're given.' Your adapting to circumstances was a survival strategy, Holmes. For god's sake, man, you were hardly more than a child at the time!"

Holmes looked at me with a baffled expression, as if what I had said was totally unexpected. "Is that honestly your opinion?" 

"Yes. And it may be not the law's opinion, or the majority of society's opinion, but I'm not talking to them. I am talking to you."

Now I truly had his attention, and I could almost see him wondering if he dare trust me and take the chance I was offering. "So what were you going to say?"

"I was going to say, _but_ , I cannot treat you as they did, even if you wish me to. If blows are all you want, I must decline now. However, I have no objections to delivering a bit of rough handling, short of fists and blows, so we may be able to meet somewhere in the middle. And my last word: You will have to ask me for my company, if you decide you want it. I will not make it difficult for you, the barest request will do, but I will not even pretend that I touch you without your consent." 

It was the best that I could do. It would either be enough, or it would not.


	4. Experiment in Firelight

By the first week of December I had decided that Holmes was not going to take me up on my offer. It had been difficult, especially at first, to live in the same rooms with him and attempt not to put him under any pressure, but I discovered a solid upbringing in manners really does serve one well. In effect, I tried to behave as if there was always a third person in the room with us. 

I recall the night things changed. Mrs. Hudson had cleared the dishes and bid us goodnight, and I was trying to decide if it was worth going out for a walk to occupy part of the evening. I was staring out through the windows, so Holmes was behind me when he spoke.

'Watson, I was wondering if I could have your assistance with something."

I turned from the window, and found Holmes standing with his hands clasped behind his back, facing away from me. "Certainly. What is it that I can do?"

"I am trying to find a way to tell a friend that I wish to accept his proposal, but I am woefully unpractised at such things, and I would appreciate any... _direction_... you might be able to give me."

I was silent for a moment, struggling with mixed emotions of fear and elation. I wanted Holmes, but I had never tried to please a partner with tastes so different to mine. Now that the time had seemingly arrived, I was afraid that I would not be able to provide him with satisfaction. But I had made the offer, and could hardly retract it now. "I suppose you could just say to your friend, 'yes, I accept' and hope he takes over from there, since it was his proposal originally." 

Holmes took a deep breath. I am not sure even now which of us felt more trepidation. His voice was so quiet that I could hardly hear him. "He did promise that the barest acceptance would do." I do not remember moving towards him, but I must have done, since I was now standing close enough to see individual hairs on the back of his neck, and I longed to touch him there, but he had still not yet actually given me permission. He turned, not in the least surprised to find me so close. "Yes, Watson. I want..." He had to stop and make a second effort. "I want you."

I lifted one hand and brushed his cheek, just as I had the only previous time I had touched him with desire. "Holmes." I wanted to say something perfect, but I did not know what the perfect words would be. "I will do my best for you."

Then I remembered that he was seeking direction from me, not flowery emotion. "Go to your room, remove everything you are wearing, then put on your dressing gown and come join me in my room. And don't take too long." 

Indeed, it seemed that it was just what he wanted to hear, since he turned away without another word and left the sitting room. I went to my own room to wait for him, hoping that somehow I would be able to make this work. I turned down all the lights, and added some more wood to the fire to ensure the room stayed warm.

He must have been more certain than I was, since he entered my room within a few minutes. He stood quietly, and I had to remind myself that he was waiting for me to tell him what to do. I was not used to such passivity, and I was not certain I liked it. However, the British Army had taught me that an officer should at least fake confidence in front of the troops, for purposes of morale. I do suspect they never intended for their instruction to be put to such use.

"The door is closed, but not locked. You may leave at any time you wish, and I will not follow you. You may also say 'no' if I do something you dislike. Otherwise I will assume you are consenting and I will do as I wish. Do you understand?"

He did not answer right away, and I snapped: " _Do you understand?_ "

"Yes."

I pulled his dressing gown open, and gazed hungrily at the lean body exposed to me. His skin was very pale, with only a light scattering of body hair, and he had so little fat on him that the muscles were clearly defined. I ran my hands down the length of his frame, shoulders to ankles, and back up to rest at his waist.

There is a difference between hearing something and believing it. I had heard Holmes say that a gentle touch did nothing for him, but only when my fingers brushed within an inch of his member without evoking even a twitch did I truly believe it. Well, I had promised him I would try and deliver something he could respond to. Besides, none of my previous partners had ever left disappointed, and I was not going to spoil my record now.

"Drop the dressing gown." He did so, allowing it to puddle around his feet. I walked behind him, and mentally crossing my fingers, slapped him hard across his buttocks. 

Both of us flinched. I stared at the red blotch spreading on his skin, and stammered: "Was that too hard?" as he swayed a little on his feet. In for a penny, in for a pound... "Pay attention!" and I slapped him again. "I'm getting tired of asking you everything twice!" 

"No."

"No, _what?_ "

"No, that was not too hard."

"You liked that?" But I had already seen the twitch I had not seen earlier. "Go over there, and put your hands on the seat of the chair. Keep your legs straight."

That bent him over, giving me an easier angle on his rear. I wanted to see the effects my blows had, to try and learn as quickly as possible how much force was required. Another four, and Holmes was moaning in his throat, but I had to stop, since my hand was red and stinging. 

I used both hands to stroke down the length of his back, which may have done nothing for him, but certainly did something for me. When I reached the red blotches I had left on his skin, I lifted my palms away and let just my nails draw lightly over the inflamed areas, and Holmes hissed through his teeth. I pulled away, horrified.

"Do you want me to stop?" 

"No, please... Please do that again." His voice shook, as if the act of asking for something took a tremendous effort. 

"Well... since you asked nicely." I stroked him again, pausing just short of the redness. He trembled, waiting to see if I was going to give him what he asked for or not, and I suddenly realised why people played these sort of games. It seems that power is indeed an aphrodisiac.

It was a difficult line to walk, trying to find actions that I was willing to do that would hurt enough to arouse him, while not killing my own desire. I found myself trading back and forth, caressing him, for me, and then abruptly pinching in the same spot. When I pinched his nipples they stiffened in my hands. 

I did not continue for too long, simply for the reason that the more I did, the greater my chances of making a major mistake. Besides, given his history Holmes would be more used to minimum foreplay rather than anything elaborate. 

"Stand up." I actually disliked being so rude, but I would use whatever worked. I could see that his member was larger, although it was hard to tell how much arousal he was feeling, since I had never seen him fully erect. But still I felt encouraged. "Go over to the bed, and lie down on your face."

He compiled without a word, and I took the pillow in one hand and smacked his buttocks with the other. "Up." I slipped the pillow under his hips and ran my hands over the welts, and he shuddered. At least now I was having no trouble maintaining my own erection, with the sight of his nude body presented up to me for the taking. He must have known what I was going to do next, and still he stayed.

It had been a very long time for him, but I was convinced by now that he did not, in truth, want to be treated too gently. I decided to compromise with plenty of oil, but not use my fingers first as I would normally have done. It should be possible, with care, to stretch him enough to sting without doing any true damage. 

What I had forgotten was that it had been a long time for me as well. As I felt his heat close around me, I lost control for a moment and thrust harder than I had intended. Holmes gasped and stiffened, and I dug my fingers into the mattress and clenched my teeth, forcing myself to stop. I pulled back, and entered again, this time more slowly. 

It was a good thing that I already intended to keep things brief, since having been solitary for so long my climax came swiftly. Now if only I could do as much for him. 

I rolled my weight from him, and lay on my side. I pulled on his shoulder as I went, so that he rolled into a matching position, his back against my front. I kissed the back of his neck lingeringly, as I had so wanted to do before, and wondered what was the right thing to do next.

Holmes relieved me of that decision, however, for when I broke from the kiss I realized his own hand was already busy with a definitely solid erection. I held completely still, almost not even breathing, for fear of ruining things. He was not at it for very long, and as he came he leant his head back towards me, and I rested my cheek on his.

I had to ask. "How was that, for you?"

Holmes considered his words for some time. "It wasn't the same as I was expecting. It was, less intense?" All my contentment evaporated, for it seemed that I had failed in the one thing that mattered most, showing Holmes that pleasure could be found without leaving him bleeding. 

But he was not finished. "It hurt, but not with that sick feeling. And it is one thing to ignore the clamouring demands of the body, but it is different when the body is not clamouring at all." Indeed, he seemed more relaxed than he had been for some time, his habitual restlessness stilled. "I feel like," and he glanced sideways at me, as if to judge my reaction, "I feel like going to sleep."

I laughed as my heart lightened. "That is common enough, but you will have to return to your own bed. I cannot allow you to stay here."

"Will you... will you allow me to ask for your attentions again?"

"Holmes," I answered him with perfect sincerity, "You can ask me any time you want."


End file.
